The coil is wound far too tight
with the key of inner hate
held to hand with a fear
that the world may realize
this rage that most cannot see
hidden beneath the placid calm
held in place by bailing wire
and a desire to not implode

tension mounts over time
with responses against the rage
begging for the another day
to survive volcanic wrath
where there’s smoke the insides burn
torching emotions not kin to rants
love evicted as the squatting ***
no longer needed in mania

poison held in mouth too long
will find a time to speak its mind
slashing with a barbed tongue
cutting self in curt response
small sanity that does endure
hides behind the failing door
soon to collapse by attacks
of the monster I’ve become

that spring that moved artistry
serves the master of misery
while the grip cannot release
the squirming chafe to be deceased
still bailing wire must endure
the lid kept tight on my voice
as the storm consumes my hope
this sad shell of whispered lies.

© 2018. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20180720.